Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians

by James Mace

  While the Batavian raised his arms in triumph and was being raucously applauded by his mates, the indignant legionaries went for their weapons. The auxiliaries had left their arms stacked around their respective camps, whereas many of the legionaries still carried their gladii. Their hatred for the Batavians, who never ceased in gloating about their thwarting of Legio XIV, boiled over. A wild melee ensued. Men smashed each other with their fists, while blades flashed from their scabbards. Screams of pain echoed throughout, as auxiliaries were slain by their enraged allies. Gladii chopped off hands and into shins, while plunging into the guts of many an auxiliary. The sounding of war horns was the only thing which prevented the Batavians from being completely slaughtered.

  “The Othonians are coming!” voices shouted, from near the gates of the encampment.

  In their mind-addled stupor the soldiers panicked, thinking somehow the slain usurper’s legions were declaring war once again, and marching on Vitellius. Despite the dozens of dead and badly maimed Batavians scattered about, differences were quickly put aside as legionary and auxilia alike attempted to rally to the standards and prepare to face the enemy. What all had forgotten was that two days prior, the emperor had given the former Othonian Legions their marching orders, with several thousand of his own men acting as escorts. Those soldiers now descending upon the city were in fact the Vitellian forces, eager to return to Ticinum in time to take part in the revelry.

  “Damn it all,” somebody swore. “It’s our own fucking troops!”

  As soldiers marched into the camp, they were appalled at the sight of all the self-inflicted carnage.

  “What in Hades happened here?” a centurion demanded, angered at the sight of the slain auxiliaries. “Who is responsible for this?”

  Embarrassed by their conduct, neither legionary nor Batavian wished to confess that a drunken wrestling match had gotten out of hand. And now the camp was littered with bloody corpses, as though the war had commenced once more.

  “There!” somebody shouted, pointing towards a group of men sitting around a fire, surrounded by a number of courtesans.

  “Who?” the centurion asked.

  “That’s one of Verginius’ servants,” the soldier asserted. “Filthy traitor came here stirring up trouble!”

  Eager to find someone else to shoulder the blame, the mass of Batavians and legionaries shouted affirmation that it was the servant’s fault. The centurion naturally had his doubts, as all the men stunk of cheap wine and mead. However, if sacrificing a mere slave was what it took to restore order, then so be it.

  “Oy!” he shouted, drawing his gladius.

  The servant, oblivious to the recriminations made against him, was suddenly filled with terror at seeing dozens of armed soldiers stalking towards him. He quickly leapt to his feet, practically throwing the woman sitting on his lap off him.

  “After him!” a legionary shouted, as the slave fled through the camp.

  Numerous soldiers, including returning legionaries and drunken revelers, were now chasing the terrified slave through the camp. Many tripped over tent ropes, weapons racks, as well as other soldiers and their various hangers-on. It was more than a mile into the city and the governor’s palace. The slave ran for his life, his lungs burning and legs aching from the exertion.

  The large doors to the palace were open, as scores of servants, wine and food merchants, as well as inebriated guests came and went at their leisure. Though there were a number of soldiers on guard duty, most were occupied with negotiating the favors of women and wine vendors. Any sense of discipline or remaining alert while on duty seemed to have abandoned them. It was only after the slave forced his way into the palace and the rampaging mob, which now numbered around a hundred persons, assailed the entrance with their weapons drawn that the guards took notice.

  “What in the bloody hell is this?” one of them asked, completely baffled.

  “That slave you just let through here is a damned criminal!” the centurion snapped. “Now out of our way so we can dispense with justice.”

  Within the banquet hall, most of the guests had gorged themselves on both food and drink and were in various states of inebriation. Dozens of servants attempted in vain to keep the floors cleaned, as plates, cups, pitchers, and serving platters were scattered throughout. A group of acrobats were now performing for the emperor and his guests, and as they began forming a human pyramid, the maddened shouts of pursuing soldiers echoed down the corridor.

  “Protect me, master!” the fleeing servant cried, as he ran into the banquet hall. He tripped over several discarded serving trays, falling face first at the feet of Vitellius and Verginius.

  As the mob of soldiers burst into the chamber, guests cried out in panic, while acrobats and entertainers scattered.

  The emperor was aghast and sat upright, his eyes wide. “How dare you interrupt my celebration!” He noted the armored man with the transverse crest on his helm. “Centurion, you had best explain yourself.”

  “That man is servant to a traitor,” the officer said, pointing accusingly at the servant, as well as Verginius. “He caused a brawl between our legionaries and Batavian auxiliaries, a number of whom now lie dead.”

  “You mean to tell me a mere slave can spontaneously cause a riot among imperial soldiers?” Verginius asked indignantly. The former general then stood up and addressed Vitellius. “Most of these men stink of vulgar drink, sire. Likely they started the brawl amongst themselves and are now looking for someone to blame.”

  “I agree,” Vitellius replied. “It is no secret to anyone, the animosity that exists between the Batavians and our legionaries.”

  The pursuing mob suddenly lost its vigor and bloodlust. Though most were still drunk, they began to realize the absurdity of what they were trying to do. The centurion and his sober legionaries appeared downright embarrassed.

  Vitellius glared at the men. “Centurion, these men started a drunken brawl which got an unknown number of our auxiliaries killed. You listened to the drunken ravings of these madmen, threatened the life of an innocent slave, and now you dare to accuse one of Rome’s greatest generals and statesmen of treason. I should strip you of your rank, then have you whipped and discharged from the ranks for this outrage.” He paused for a moment, while the centurion cast his eyes on the floor. The emperor laid back down on his couch. “Fortunately for you, I am in a good humor this night, and I will not let this disgraceful conduct ruin it. I will leave it to you to sort this matter out, but know that if I hear so much as a single threatening word towards General Verginius or any members of his household, I will hold you fully accountable.”

  The centurion and his men said nothing, but deeply bowed before quickly leaving the hall. And though the guests were confounded by what they had just witnessed, both Valens and Caecina were even more shocked by the rare show of leadership presence from their emperor.

  “I think,” Valens said slowly, “we should take care of those troublesome auxiliaries, sooner rather than later.”

  “Flog a few of the troublemakers and then dispatch them back to their garrisons,” the emperor directed. “They have forfeited their privilege of accompanying us to Rome.”

  Vitellius then told the musicians to play on. While the tone of the celebration was certainly marred by the soldiers’ disgraceful conduct, the emperor continued his feast and seemed to forget the matter completely.

  Across the Mediterranean, the mood was anything but celebratory. No sooner had word reached the eastern provinces that Otho was dead and Vitellius now emperor, than the seeds of rebellion were being sown once more. The heart of this unrest lay not in Judea, but further to the south in Egypt. Governor Alexander, a staunch ally of Vespasian, had only received vague instructions from the Flavian general regarding maintaining the readiness of his legions, and he was ready to take matters into his own hands. On the first day of June, he summoned one of his legion commanders to discuss the matter.

  Tiberius Julius Alexander had served as procur
ator of Egypt for the past four years. One of the only provinces that was governed by a member of the equites rather than the senate, the procuratorship was regarded as one of the highest postings a member of the lesser nobility could achieve. The only other position of greater status was Prefect of the Praetorian Guard, and that was debatable. Alexander was an even greater rarity for a member of the equites, for not only was he an Alexandrian, but also a Jew.

  Born during the reign of Tiberius, in whose honor he was named, his father had served as an imperial customs official in Alexandria. Due to his family’s wealth and connections, and because his father was a Roman citizen, Alexander was allowed to follow the political career path of the Roman equites, something which alienated him greatly from his fellow Jews. And though not a complete apostate of his ancestral faith, he almost without exception put the interests of the empire above those of his native religion. Still, his ethnicity and religion made him a viable candidate to be Procurator of Judea soon after the death of King Agrippa I. And though he only served for two years, it marked a rare period of peace within the volatile region.

  Since being granted control over Egypt, Alexander had solidified his relationships with the former imperial family, as well as Vespasian and the Flavians. He had, however, all but completely severed ties with the Jews by this point. After a riot turned extremely violent, Alexander unleashed the legions upon the Jewish quarter of the city, killing all who failed to successfully flee the city. Vespasian’s son, Titus, had been Chief Tribune of Legio XV, Apollinaris , at the time and was promoted to its commanding legate soon after. The riots aside, Alexandria and Egypt, as a whole, had managed to avoid most of the sectarian violence that threatened to spill over from neighboring Judea.

  “Happy Calends of June!” the boisterous voice of the legate said, as he was ushered into Alexander’s private study.

  “And to you, sir,” the prefect said, clasping the general’s hand.

  Gaius Camillus Thrasea was an experienced officer now serving his third tour as legate of a legion. He commanded Legio XXII, Deiotariana , whose history dated back over a hundred years prior to the Primigenia Legion in Northern Italia, which happened to share the same number.

  “No doubt you’ve heard about the fall of our dear emperor,” Alexander said, taking a seat behind his desk.

  Thrasea chuckled. “I wouldn’t call him ‘dear’. It isn’t as if he was loved like Augustus or Claudius. He scarcely had time to introduce himself to the empire, and the army knew nothing about him.”

  “Other than the fact that he was their rightful emperor, ratified by the Senate of Rome,” Alexander emphasized.

  “Well, yes, that ,” the legate acknowledged. “But seeing as how the senate has now ratified Vitellius as emperor, the same can be said for him.” The tone in Thrasea’s voice was unconvincing.

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do,” Alexander countered knowingly. “And how can it be considered rightful, when it was done with forty thousand blades pointed at the senate’s collective necks? The senate could have denied Otho but chose not to. With Vitellius, they really had no choice.”

  “And you think we have a choice now?” It was now Thrasea’s turn to speculate. He had suspected for a long time what might happen, should Otho lose the war against Vitellius.

  “We always have a choice,” Alexander conjectured. “Do we simply let that fat bastard and his swarm of locusts devour the empire, or do we take a stand for Rome?”

  The legate pondered this for a moment. He had met Vitellius on a few occasions, and while a likeable enough fellow, he was the last person who should have ever been considered a viable candidate to become emperor.

  “Whether he compelled the Rhine Legions to fight for him or they simply propped him up as their emperor while they mutinied is of no matter. From what little I know about him personally, I will say Vitellius is not the cruel despot that Galba was. He is intelligent, and I do believe his intentions are noble. However, he is slothful, lazy, and easily manipulated. And just as the Rhine Army refused to swear allegiance to Galba, I cannot see the legions in the east giving their oaths to Vitellius.”

  “You know what must be done, then,” Alexander said, folding his hands on his desk.

  “Has Vespasian said anything yet?” Thrasea asked.

  Alexander shook his head. “Not officially. I think if we declare for him and make it into a populist uprising, rather than a military revolt, we stand a much better chance of not only gaining the people’s support, but of keeping it once this is over.”

  “All the same, we still need the legions.” The legate gave a nod, formulating his own idea as to how they should proceed. “I’ll speak with my colleague from the Third Cyrenaica Legion. Their soldiers and mine share the same fortress, and I have little doubt that they are of a similar temperament. The armies of the Rhine mutinied because their legates and senior officers told them to, but if this is going to be a populist uprising within the army, it should start at the very bottom. I’ll need a couple of weeks, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find our voice in the ranks. When did the senate say we are to renew our oaths to Vitellius?”

  “The first day of July,” Alexander answered.

  “Well then, the lads will swear their allegiance, and Rome will have an emperor,” Thrasea asserted. “But it will not be that fat bastard whose ass could break the imperial throne.”

  For Lucius Artorius Magnus, the rise of a new emperor was an opportunity for him to finally achieve his ambition of returning to active military service. There was little chance of Vitellius coming through Ariminum, as it would divert him from the most direct route to Rome.

  “I leave tomorrow for Arretium,” he told his deputy, a magistrate named Porcius. “It is only fitting that I greet the emperor and congratulate him on behalf of the people of Ariminum.”

  “Very good, sir,” Porcius replied. “Do you know how long you will be away?”

  “I don’t even know where the emperor is,” Lucius confessed. “I heard he has crossed into Northern Italia, but that is all I know. No doubt every major city and township will wish to show him their hospitality and win favor with the new imperial court.”

  “Only fair that we do the same, then,” Porcius concurred. “Fortunately for us, we will not have to host Vitellius and his entourage. I hear he has more than one hundred thousand following him.”

  “It could be higher than that,” Lucius noted. “Just from what I know about the legions and other military units escorting him, their total strength alone must be nearly sixty thousand. And if we take into account all of their servants plus Vitellius’ own extensive revenue, along with the senators, equites, various magistrates, and each one of their respective entourages and slaves, I daresay he has his own marching city accompanying him.”

  “So you’ll be gone about a month,” the deputy governor speculated.

  “That’s a reasonable guess,” Lucius remarked. “Though let’s plan for two. If I am delayed past the end of July, I will send a message to you.”

  “I am sure I will manage,” Porcius said. He had served a previous four-year term as deputy governor, and his level of experience often made Lucius feel like his own services were scarcely needed. “And will Lady Laura be accompanying you?”

  The day after the banquet at Ticinum, Vitellius sought to address his soldiers, as well as the delegation from the senate which had just arrived. Among them was Flavius Sabinus, who was serving his term as suffect consul for May and June.

  “Ah, noble Sabinus,” Vitellius said, embracing him. Given the amount of wine the emperor had consumed the night prior, it was nothing short of amazing that he appeared to be suffering little, if any, ill effects.

  “The senate sends its warmest greetings, sire,” Sabinus replied. “There is much work to be done once you return to the capital.”

  “Yes, of course,” Vitellius replied dismissively. “I have the rest of my life to toil in service to my people. But first, there is the
matter of my seeing the battlefields where our armies defeated the usurper. And General Valens has promised me quite the display of gladiators at the new arena in Cremona. Those sullen bastards from the Thirteenth Legion built us the new amphitheater as a penance for their crimes.”

  “An effective use for legionaries,” the suffect consul replied, though Vitellius failed to note the trace of sarcasm in his voice. “And you can now dispose of all the surviving gladiators that Otho brought north with him.”

  Vitellius could not tell if Sabinus was being genuine or sardonic. He therefore decided to ignore the remark. Instead, he led his entourage to the reviewing stand, where a large force of legionaries were gathered. Given the vast size of the army, each legion was only able to send one or two cohorts to parade before the emperor. Something quickly noted was the complete absence of representation from any auxilia regiments. The emperor proceeded to give a short speech, exhorting the legions for their loyalty and bravery and, after the soldiers were dismissed, addressed the senatorial delegation and his senior military officers.

  “Forgive me for saying so, sire,” Caecina spoke up, “but the auxiliaries are not going to like hearing that you praised the legions on the very day after they slaughtered a number of Batavians.”

  “That is why they are no longer needed in my entourage,” the emperor replied. “All Batavian and Gallic auxilia infantry regiments are ordered to return to their home garrisons immediately. Furthermore, I have contemplated a few measures as to how we can salvage the empire from further financial hardships.”

  “A few less banquets that cost the treasury a million denarii a day would be a start,” Sabinus muttered under his breath. The senators closest to him chuckled, showing just how little respect they held for Vitellius.